


Sir, I am too old to learn

by MovesLikeBucky



Series: Ineffable Tutors [7]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Aziraphale is Hung, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), But they're very much their canon selves, Cheesy Porn Tropes, Coming Untouched, Dom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dom/sub, Ineffable Tutors | Aziraphale and Crowley as Mr Cortese and Mr Harrison (Good Omens), M/M, No actual ill-advised and against policy relationships happen in this fic, Or at least Mr. Cortese is here, Professor/Student Roleplay, Roleplay, Sub Crowley (Good Omens), Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), adding that tag just for my buddy Divine lol, just an angel and a demon who are very in love and not very good at roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:28:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29829081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MovesLikeBucky/pseuds/MovesLikeBucky
Summary: Anthony knocks softly at the large ornate wooden door. It’s the first time he’s been called to Professor Cortese’s office hours, but he’s expected this would happen sooner or later. He’s been missing too many classes lately, falling behind in his essay work. It’s tough, at his age, to be back in school again. Stuck amongst all these youngsters that don’t have any jobs or real life experiences to keep them distracted and make things difficult.But Professor Cortese is a professional, surely he’ll understand.---Crowley and Aziraphale try a little roleplay.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Ineffable Tutors [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1912819
Comments: 37
Kudos: 145
Collections: Ineffablexxx - Directors Cut, Top Aziraphale Recs





	Sir, I am too old to learn

**Author's Note:**

> So there's a cheesy porn trope trend going around and I couldn't not bring the tutors into it (well, one of them, anyway xD)
> 
> The biggest and hugest of thanks to the Angsters for all the love and cheerleading I love y'all and plz believe this fic would never have gotten finished without y'all's support it would've just lived in the WIP pile xD I love y'all! <3 <3
> 
> Also the biggest and hugest of thanks to NaroMoreau for the beta read on this I am honored that you looked this over first ilu! <3
> 
> Title is taken from Shakespeare's King Lear Act 2, Scene 2

Anthony knocks softly at the large ornate wooden door. It’s the first time he’s been called to Professor Cortese’s office hours, but he’s expected this would happen sooner or later. He’s been missing too many classes lately, falling behind in his essay work. It’s tough, at his age, to be back in school again. Stuck amongst all these youngsters that don’t have any jobs or real life experiences to keep them distracted and make things difficult.

But Professor Cortese is a professional, surely he’ll understand.

* * *

_No see you grow the beard back and you can be the dominant and commanding professor and I’ll be the student that’s falling behind!_

_Why on earth would I want to be a professor? Tutoring young Warlock was bad enough._

_Because… it’s sexy._

_Is it?_

_Is to me._

_Well, if you say so, darling. But do we actually need entire backstories for this?_

_Course we do! That’s what a fantasy is for!_

_But really, this isn’t necessary for me to dominate you, as you say. I could just do that anyway._

_It’s the fun of it, angel. Pretending to be something we aren’t, the illicitness of the situation._

_...You know I do consider myself something of a thespian._

_See, exactly! Be right up your alley, love._

_Or will it be up yours?_

_Ngk…grphh… don’t do that._

* * *

A voice inside beckons him to come in. A lilting tone that’s out of touch with the loud and controlling presence Cortese commands over his lecture hall. When Anthony is able to attend classes, he barely absorbs what Cortese says. Far too enamored with his voice, with watching his hands as they paint pictures through the air. Wondering how those hands would feel on his body, how they would spread him open or how tight they could grip his throat. Wondering how that tweed jacket with the silly little elbow pads would look on his floor. By the time class is dismissed, Anthony is sure he hasn’t learned a damn thing.

Cortese had spoken to him only once, when it had taken a while for Anthony to pack up his things. Anthony had passed him on his way out of the lecture hall, and Cortese had uttered a very soft “mind how you go” in his direction. Made his stomach jump with butterflies, just as it is now.

He pushes the door open, steps into the office. It’s small, smaller than the door would suggest, but that’s how these old buildings are. Honestly, it’s not much better than a broom closet. If said broom closet had a nice mahogany desk, leather-wrapped chairs, and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.

“Ah, Mr. Crowley,” Cortese says without looking up from his papers. His sleeves are rolled up, small glasses perched on the end of his nose. He’s wearing a sweater vest of all things. Anthony takes in the sight of him, the fluffy beard now able to be seen up close, the piercing hazel eyes that seem to strike right through him as soon as Cortese’s gaze is leveled at him. He swallows hard and pulls at the collar of his shirt, suddenly feeling quite hot and closed off in this tiny room.

“Hello professor,” Anthony says and curses under his breath at the crack in his voice. Cortese still doesn’t look up, only motions for Anthony to have a seat. The office seems even more cramped now as he settles into the chair across from the professor. There’s only one window in the room, a tall one, the sunset sluicing through the glass. It washes the room in pinks and golds. It catches on the metal frame of Cortese’s glasses, a slight shine that keeps Anthony mesmerized. 

Anthony has never seen his face this close. He has laugh lines and crow’s feet marking his age onto his skin. But Anthony has always liked older men, even when he himself was younger. Something about the experience.

“Are you listening, Mr. Crowley?”

“Ah, please,” he stumbles over his words, trying not to sound quite as dopey as he feels and falling short, “Just Anthony, if you don’t mind.”

“Right then, _Anthony_. As I was saying you are falling very far behind your peers in this class. Now I know that analysis of classic literature is not a particularly thrilling subject…”

“…thrilling…”

“…Nor is it particularly exciting…”

“… _exciting…_ ”

“…But I would expect you to do your due diligence in any course, if you are serious about your education. You need to hit the book hard and rough…”

“…hard…and rough…”

“…Take _everything_ you can from it, and turn it inside out. Break it open…”

“…break _me_ open…”

“—I’m sorry, what was that?”

“Oh, nothing…” Anthony trails off, shaking himself out of his innermost thoughts. As he does, an idea forms in his mind. “You know, perhaps we could come to some sort of an _arrangement_ , regarding my grades.” He runs his hand across the edge of the mahogany desk in a way he hopes is enticing, leaning back and letting his legs fall open. He’s been favoring the tight jeans that are popular with the younger generation these days, and they leave nothing to the imagination.

Cortese finally looks up at him, leveling him with a gaze like hardened steel. Anthony swallows thickly under the weight of that gaze, like prey caught in the inescapable grip of the predator. His mind echoes just one sentiment over and over. _Take me, bend me over the desk, take what you want from me you gorgeous angel of a man._

“I think we might be able to come to some sort of arrangement.” Cortese takes off his glasses, folding them neatly on the desk with intention. He tilts his head to one side, raking his eyes over Anthony slowly. Anthony shouldn’t find that as arousing as it is but he’s sure the bulge in his trousers is beyond obvious by now.

“Oh might we?” Anthony quirks what he hopes is a rakish grin when he says it, letting his hand fall to his opened legs, just barely touching his clothed cock.

“Yes,” Cortese says, leaning over the desk and darting his tongue out to wet his lips.

“And what would that entail, _Professor_ ?” Anthony asks, leaning in towards him. He runs a tentative finger over Cortese’s silly tartan bowtie before hooking it through the loops of it. “I can assure you I’m ready to do _anything_ and _everything_ you might have in mind…for the sake of my grade, of course.”

“Ah…” Cortese says on a shaky breath, eyes darting to Anthony’s lips. Anthony leans in, desperate to feel that soft beard against his skin, those plush lips under his. But suddenly, Cortese leans back.

“I do have a variety of materials here and that I can suggest in the University library for help with time management skills,” Cortese says as he starts to putter around the room.

“Professor…”

“And I do think we can work something out,” Cortese says as he moves some papers from one surface to another, “Perhaps if you can show me you’re setting the time aside properly and doing the work say three times a week?”

“Professor Cortese…”

“If you can do that, dear boy, I would not mind giving you extra credit, of course.”

“Aziraphale…” Crowley shakes his head. Aziraphale has gone completely off script.

“My main goal, after all, is to make sure you succeed in your studies.”

“ _Angel!_ ”

Aziraphale finally stops, turning to face Crowley, façade completely gone.

“Yes, darling? Am I doing it right?” Aziraphale’s face is full of hope and light and Crowley can’t help but laugh.

“The bowtie, that was your cue.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale smacks his forehead, realization dawning on him. “Oh dear, I’ve messed it all up.”

“Nah just got a bit too into it, is all,” Crowley says, crossing over to him and giving him a quick kiss. It’s endearing, really, just how much Aziraphale has dedicated to this ‘character’.

“I did get a bit carried away.”

“Just a bit, angel.”

“Let me try to reel it back in, give it the old _college try,”_ Aziraphale says with a wink that makes Crowley groan.

“Ugh, you’re a menace.”

“Maybe so, but _you_ love me.”

Crowley huffs and crosses back to his seat. Aziraphale breathes in deep a few times, motioning with his hands to try to center himself back into his ‘role’.

When he turns to face Crowley again, he’s back to being Professor Cortese. Back to the stern gaze of collegiate judgement. There’s a fire and a strength there that Aziraphale usually reserves for moments when he’s in control, and it always leaves Crowley weak in the knees. Crowley shifts in his seat, uncomfortably aroused by just this flip of a switch, as he sinks back into character.

“Though I suppose, if you had another way to prove to me that you are _serious_ about your studies.” Cortese leans against the bookshelf and crosses his arms. There’s a hunger in his eyes that makes Anthony’s mouth water.

“Anything I can do, Professor, I can’t fail this class.”

“No, of course not. Let’s see then, if you can prove just how good of a student you can be.” Cortese crooks his finger, motioning for Anthony to come towards him. Anthony nearly falls out of the chair in his hurry to get on his feet and obey.

He’s not sure what makes him stand stock still in front of Cortese, what makes him stop breathing as the man circles him. It’s like he’s appraising him, analyzing him like he’s analyzed so many of the greats.

“Very good on lesson one, dear boy.” Cortese says as he runs a hand along Anthony’s shoulders, circling back around to face him. Anthony can’t help the whine that escapes his throat at the praise. “Ah, positive reinforcement, then. Well, you’ve done excellent on this lesson, let’s see how well you can do with the others.” Cortese hooks a finger under Anthony’s chin, tilting his head to one side and then the other. “You are quite a handsome man, Anthony. Excellent profile, truly beautiful.”

“M’ not,” Anthony says quietly, decades of loneliness having given him a less than stellar view of himself. At least, in this particular backstory.

“Ah, but you are. I’ve often watched you in my class, it’s always terribly disappointing when you aren’t present. I had _hoped_ that this meeting could change that, and could impart to you the importance of being a good student.” His hand trails down Anthony’s neck, along the line of the chain he wears until it rests at the center of his chest. “You _are_ a good student, aren’t you Anthony?”

“Yes, excellent student, me.”

“And you can take _instruction_?”

“Oh yeah, big fan.”

“Very well then,” Cortese says as he crosses over to the desk. He sits back in his chair, eyes never leaving Anthony as he does. “I would like you, if you are amenable, to disrobe. Chain first, then jacket, followed by your shoes and finally your shirt. I wish for you to then remove your belt and unbutton your trousers, but leave them on. I will have the pleasure of removing those myself. Each item should be carefully folded and placed in your chair, one by one. Now, are you willing to do this? Yes or no, please.”

Crowley nearly falls down with the speed at which the blood rushes from the rest of him to his cock. Aziraphale is usually the one to take charge in the bedroom but this is another level entirely and the shock of it drops him straight out of character and directly into horribly and completely horny. 

“Well? I’m waiting for an answer, and it’s impolite to keep one waiting.”

“Right, yea,” Crowley shakes his head, falling back into the game. “Yes, Professor.”

“Wonderful,” Cortese practically coos at him as a slow smile spreads across his face. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Anthony undresses slowly. His chain goes first, curled up and placed on the leather of the chair. He shrugs out of his jacket, folding it neatly before toeing out of his shoes and placing them under the chair. He untucks his shirt, pulling it up and over his head. Cortese’s eyes rake over his thin frame as he folds it and places it with the rest. Finally, the belt is gone, rolled up and placed on top of the pile. Anthony then pops the button on his too-tight trousers, hissing at the slight bit of friction the shift gives him against the head of his cock. He returns to Cortese’s side, and waits.

Cortese simply scrutinizes him, fingers steepled in front of his mouth thoughtfully as he leans back in his chair. Anthony can’t meet his eyes, the look in them far too intense and far too knowing. Cortese slowly leans forward, hooking his fingers through Anthony’s belt loops and pulling him closer, until he’s standing between Cortese’s legs. He feels trapped. He feels thrilled at the possibilities of that.

“Exceptional.” Cortese’s hands ghost up his bare sides, a staccato rhythm against Anthony’s ribcage. The touch is barely there, almost tickling, as his hands move over Anthony’s nipples, already peaking in the cold air of the office. Cortese’s well manicured nails rake through Anthony’s sparse chest hair, all the way down to his treasure trail. He can’t stop himself, back arching at the touch, at the pleasure pain of it. He keens and Cortese fixes him with a look that makes him swallow the noise back down.

“You’ve done quite well with this second lesson, Anthony,” he says as his hands find the fly of Anthony’s jeans. “You’re very good at following directions, solid on the execution of them, an excellent skill to possess.”

“Thank you, Professor.” Anthony chokes out, embarrassed by how shaky the words are.

“And it would seem, you are quite eager.” Cortese palms at Anthony’s erection through his jeans, making him gasp and roll his hips. “Yes, that’s it, you’ve earned a reward haven’t you?” Cortese grinds his palm against Anthony harder, delicious friction that makes his toes curl in his socks. Cortese’s other hand drags back up, gripping Anthony behind his neck and pulling him downwards.

He’s just able to catch himself on the arms of Cortese’s chair as their lips crash together. Anthony moans and opens willingly for Cortese’s insistent tongue. The scratch of beard against his face and the insistent pressure on his cock threaten to make him spill out right there in his trousers, and he knows he wouldn’t mind if he did. He’d do it gladly, if Cortese commanded it of him.

And then all at once it’s over. Cortese’s hand is gone and so are his lips, and Anthony can’t help but whine at the loss. 

“Can’t have it ending too soon, now dear. You have so many missed classes to make up for, after all.” Cortese moves on to Anthony’s jeans, working the zip down slowly. Every click of the zipper’s teeth sends a shock of anticipation burning through Anthony. Soon enough, Cortese is pushing his jeans down around his ankles, taking his pants with them. Anthony shivers as the cold air hits his freed cock, already flushed red and leaking far more than he’d like it to be.

“Has anyone told you that you are absolutely…” Cortese swipes his thumb over the tip of Anthony’s cock, making him gasp. He brings that same thumb up to his lips and licks the precome from it. “… _delectable?_ ”

“Hrnn…no…no Professor.”

“A shame, because you are.”

Anthony notices now for the first time the tent in Cortese’s trousers. He licks his lips. The professor follows Anthony’s eyes, finally flicking open the buttons of his own trousers, freeing his own cock. It’s a big one, nice and thick. Anthony is suddenly concerned if he’ll be able to take it.

“Over the desk please.”

“What?” Anthony says, finally peeling his eyes away.

“Lesson three, knowing your limits. I’d like for you to bend over the desk, please.”

Anthony scrambles to do as he’s told, practically folding himself in half over the mahogany. Cortese stands, settling himself between Anthony’s legs, the tip of his cock pressing against Anthony’s rim. 

Anthony has the fleeting thought that Cortese is going to take him right now, hard and rough. The thought thrills him, makes him want to grind down, prove he can take it. But it doesn’t happen, he doesn’t push in. Instead he spreads Anthony’s cheeks wider, presses his thumb against his rim.

“Everyone has limits, Anthony, and knowing them is the difference between succeeding and failing.” There’s the sound of a drawer opening, of the flip of a plastic cap. Cortese steps back, but leaves his thumb pressed to the top of Anthony’s rim. “In all things in life, but especially studies, one must be well prepared.” On the last, he pushes in with two extremely slick fingers. Anthony scrabbles for a handhold on the desk, knocking the lamp to the floor in the process. Cortese pays no mind, instead focusing on pulsing and scissoring his fingers. Opening Anthony up, getting him ready.

Anthony is vaguely aware of the words falling from his lips. Litanies of “yes” and “more” and “professor”, begging for everything that Cortese will give him. Anthony rolls his hips back, meeting each of Cortese’s thrusts.

“So greedy for it, aren’t you. But are you ready for it? Do you know your limits, Anthony?” Cortese’s fingers still, his other hand presses on the small of Anthony’s back as he tries to squirm down onto them and find friction. His cock is bobbing helplessly against the desk, painting it with precome. He’s so painfully close and all he wants is to be fucked. But that isn’t the lesson here.

“No…m’not… Not quite.”

“Oh, Anthony,” Cortese says as he pulls his fingers out, “You are a _very_ fast learner.” Anthony whines and rolls his hips back, cock twitching between his legs.

He pushes back in with three fingers this time, rotating and stretching Anthony to his breaking point until finally he is begging. “Professor, please, I’m ready, please.”

Cortese pulls his fingers out slowly. “Yes, I believe you are. And you have earned it. But there is one final lesson. Up off the desk, you’re trailing all over the finish.”

Anthony scrambles back to his feet as Cortese sits back down in his chair. It seems a bit wider than it was earlier, but Anthony files that away as a thought for later. His legs are shaking, he’s painfully close to coming but he can’t, not yet.

“Now, the final lesson is that you, and only you, are responsible for yourself.” Cortese settles back into his chair, relaxed and unaffected, motioning Anthony to come closer. “For this lesson, my dutiful student, you will climb into my lap and fuck yourself on my cock. You will be slow, you will be thorough, and you will not come until I say so, are we clear?”

“Yes… crystal…” Anthony sighs in relief, already climbing into Cortese’s lap. The professor lines his cock up with Anthony’s hole and he sinks down onto it slowly, the barest inch at a time. The stretch is both painful and delicious, even as well-prepared as he is. His breath hitches with every bit that he takes in, and Cortese's grip is strong on his hips, keeping him from moving too fast.

It feels like an eternity before Cortese is fully sheathed inside of him, filling him up entirely. The pressure against his prostate is a kind he’s never felt before, that he’ll never feel again.

“Very good, Anthony, you take my cock so well. Now, up again, slowly.” 

And he does, whimpering at the loss of fullness as Cortese’s cock slips further out of him. His hands are braced on the arms of the chair, elbows shaking. Cortese is raking a hand through his hair, cooing at Anthony and telling him how well he’s doing.

Anthony sinks back down again, setting a rhythm. Up and then down, up and then down. He’s drawn tight, knuckles white where they grip the chair. Cortese grips his arse, spreads his cheeks further, and he sinks just that much deeper and moans obscenely.

“Such lovely noises you make. I could keep you here, keep you as my own, would you like that? We could call you my assistant, but we’d both know the truth, that you’re taking my cock any time I feel the notion to give it to you, would you like that, Anthony?”

“Yes, please, yes, yours, all yours,” Anthony babbles as he impales himself on Cortese’s thick cock over and over, pleasure pooling in the pit of his stomach threatening to burst loose with every hard push against his prostate.

“No one’s ever taken me as well as you, beautiful creature. Say it again.”

“Yours, all yours, close, I’m… Professor… _Aziraphale_ , m' close…”

Aziraphale grips his hips, all pretense gone, sets the rhythm he knows Crowley likes best, fucking up into him as Crowley’s nails dig into his shoulders. “Come for me, Crowley, let me see you, my darling.”

Two more well placed thrusts and Crowley comes with a shout, spilling out over Aziraphale’s argyle sweater vest and falling limp in his arms. A few more and Aziraphale follows, biting down on Crowley’s shoulder as he spills deep inside of him, beard scratchy against his skin.

The room around them dissolves, no longer the cramped and crowded office of a long-term professor, just the regular backroom of the bookshop, and the couch there underneath them. 

Aziraphale kisses Crowley deeply, and Crowley laughs. His skin is prickly and oversensitive, and the hair of Aziraphale’s beard tickles his face. Aziraphale just keeps kissing him as he lays them both down on the couch, softening cock slipping free from Crowley’s body. 

“I do hope,” Aziraphale says on labored breaths, “I wasn’t too rough with you, dear.”

“Nope, never,” Crowley says as he burrows deeper into Aziraphale’s arms.

“It’s a good thing I didn’t want to keep this sweater vest. I dare say the come will be hard to get out of the fibers.”

“Hrk… don’t… don’t say things like that, ’s weird.” Crowley wrinkles his nose as he snaps, leaving Aziraphale just as naked as he is. He blindly gropes for the back of the couch, and the blue and red blankets that reside there.

Aziraphale just huffs at him. “Well, either way. That was quite fun, maybe there’s something to this whole ‘role-play’ thing.”

“If that’s how into it you get, angel, then I definitely want to do it again.”

“In that case, I think I might have a few ideas.” Aziraphale says with a wiggle that decidedly does _not_ make Crowley smile against his skin.

“Gonna run me ragged, angel,” he says as he stretches up to capture Aziraphale’s lips in a kiss, “I look forward to it.”


End file.
